


The Witch’s Staff Special Edition

by empires



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Explicit Sexual Content, Fuck Me Boots, M/M, Pinups, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-13 22:20:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16480826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empires/pseuds/empires
Summary: The fabulous@pentapodawas kind enough to indulge me in creating a pinup witch picture for Dick. This story is the result of her wicked, witchy art skills.Click here for the artwork.Special thanks to CarbonJen for the drive-by beta.





	The Witch’s Staff Special Edition

A black bell rattles sickly above the door annoucing the presence of a patron. It was a rare occurance nowdays, the arrival of a customer to the old shop.

Behind the old hemlock counter, Jason lifts his head, and then straightens his chest so he stands tall in front of the wares. His father once told him that confidence and pride are the key to selling the herbs and potions lining the walls. Their quality is what brings happy customers back. 

“Welcome to Todd & Sons Apothecary.” His pleasant demeanor crumbles when the store’s single occupant walks into the light.

“Shouldn’t it just be son?” sneers the pale visage of Lonnie Machin.

“Fuck you, Machin,” Jason snaps in reply. Lonnie is the meanest sonvabitch to walk the narrow streets of Park Row, and he’s just as dried out and bitter as Jason himself, as any other person who lives in this crumbling neighborhood devoid of opportunities and money. Lonny's not customer. He's a nuisance.

Lonnie's ragged shoes squeak across the polished tile floor. “That’s no way to speak to me.”

“You gotta pay for the charm. You can just fuck off.”

“Who says I’m not.” Lonnie digs a hand beneath his flannel coat. Before Jason can retrieve his wand or taltos, Lonnie whips out a flat packet and slaps it onto the counter.

Jason’s eyes widen. Inside the sealed thin vellum is a magazine. _The_ magazine. The Witch's Staff Long Night Special Edition. Brushing his nails through the buzzed hair along his nape, Jason stares in awe. Released yearly, the Long Night Specials are limited in number and cost far more than Jason can afford to spend. He’s never been this close to one and can’t fight the curiosity. He leans in for a closer look. 

The modesty sticker boasts the stats that Jason already knew by heart. Over 350 pages of depraved goodness to get the hellfire burning. Daring spells for pleasure, tales of darling perversion between witchkind and Others, and a bevy of beautiful witches cast in motion lithograph who respond to your every desire.

Sensing movement, the cover model springs to life and raises her hands above the modesty sticker. She’s pale as the moon with eyes that glow black as goblin blood, and her limbs undulate beneath a smoke-filled sky. She pauses, a sad moue on her lips that has Jason immediately wanting to ask her what’s wrong. He doesn’t though, only stares until she points to the packaging.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Jason whispers, reaching for the magazine. His hand is slapped away.

“Not until we have a deal,” Machin says, then. “Should’ve known a perv like you would be eager for it.”

Jason jerks a hand through the lock of hair teasing his temple. “Like your copy isn’t already sticky.”

“How do you know this isn’t my copy?”

“Because you’re easy to figure out Machin.” Jason takes a final glance at the magazine and then turns away. “I can’t make a deal. Our stock is low, and even if they weren’t, I don’t want to get involved in whatever twisted shit you got planned for tonight.”

“It’s Samhain. The Long Night. What would Gotham be without a little anarchy?”

“A safer place,” Jason mutters. “We only take cash now, Lonnie. If you don’t got it, you should go ahead and leave.”

The bravado on Lonnie’s face fades. “Okay, wait, wait. I need greased livery wing and hollyhark to spell smoke to billow from my costume. That’s all it. Come on, Todd. It’s a little less anarchy and a lot more mischief this year. I swear.”

Jason eyes him closely. Unlike his mother, he isn’t gifted with the sight, but he’s a fair hand at reading people. For once, Lonnie seems earnest and honest in his intentions. Hollyhark isn’t all that expensive anyway, and he can always catch more livery on his own.

“Fine, fine. I get the magazine and you steer a real costumer in here by the end of the week. And if you’re lying and someone gets hurt from you being stupid, I’ll come after you.”

Lonnie nods eagerly. “Done. Get my shit and we can make a deal.”

"You're weirding me out, man," Jason mutters as he turns toward the back wall. 

Forged of iron wood and spelled with the magic of twenty Todd men and women, the apothecary cabinet is the pride of the shop. It stretches across the entire back wall and touches the shop’s fifteen-foot ceilings. Jason tugs the rolling ladder to the herbs and quickly ascends to find Lonnie’s spell components.

Lonnie ceases the annoying drum of his knuckles on the counter when Jason returns with the livery and hollyhard neatly packaged and sealed with golden string spelled for preservation. 

“Yes! Let’s get started." Lonnie shoves his fist towards Jason. "The deal that bines tween thee and thine will be honored by the will of the Nine. Swear the truth of our deal to the night.”

A small flame ignites in his palm.

Jason grips Lonnie’s hand. The flame burns at his palm. “By the nine I swear with intent pure. A witch’s word brings magic to life.”

The flame engulfs their hand, burning warm orange, intense blue, pure white, and then the unseen color of magic. The fire dies an in its place remains the deal.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Todd.”

It really wasn’t, but with the Witch's Staff now in his possession, Jason can’t find it in himself to complain.

 

* * *

 

As the day progresses, Lonnie’s arrival appears less like an aberrant event and more a portent of the day. By noon, more than ten witches sounded the black bell. By day’s end, Jason had amassed enough business to keep the utilities running for the month. Perhaps enough to close for a resupply day, maybe two.

The customers all sang the same refrain. “I had run all over the city looking for this rare ingredient. I’m so glad I found you before you closed.”

Jason always replied with all the charm he barely feels anymore. “Next time, come to Todd & Sons first. We’ll never let you down.”

Their purchases are expertly packaged and the preservation spells and instructions neatly placed beside an extra business card in the bag. He escorts each elder witch back to the door with a steady hand at the elbow and gentle smile on his face. Hopefully, they'll return sooner than later.

Now the day is over. The iron lamps spring to life at sundown, spreading a warm yellow glow over the shop. Jason closes the iron grates over the windows and after polishing the shelves and cleaning the old tile flooring until it gleams like new, Jason activates the shop’s wards.

A long time ago, before his father took ownership of the shop, before his grandparents passed away, before Jason dropped out of school to try and stabilize the hemorrhaging business, the Todd family owned the entire block. From the abandoned pub at the corner to the crumbling apartments above the equally abandoned apartments, it had all been theirs. All that’s been left to Jason is the shop building and the brownstone building behind it.

Jason climbs the stone steps of his home and checks over his shoulder before tapping the lock with his wand. The wards around the house part like a stage curtain, and Jason steps inside.

A ghostly figure floats at the foot of the stairs. She moves slowly in a well tread path, the foyer to the living room through the furniture into the kitchen, where she waits by the sink, bloody tears falling from her eyes. She returns in a flash of light to begin again.

“Hey mom,” Jason whispers. “We did good today. Well, better than the last two weeks.”

She turns the corner and disappears, leaving Jason with a heavy heart. Sighing, he trudges up the stairs. They groan underfoot. The wallpaper has continued its downward pull from the wall. Normally, Jason would review these items on his extensive mental list of things to fix and improve around the house. Between the shop and the house, Jason never has time for himself.

But tonight, the longest night, he will. For the first time in a long time, Jason Todd is going to have exactly what he wants.

 

* * *

 

“I just don’t know what I want!”

Jason sits at the foot of the bed, magazine perched on one knee and various spell components neatly ordered on the wooden floor before him. Overwhelmed, he tilts his head against the bed and sighs.

The Witch’s Staff boasts that every lithograph is imbued with the essence of the model and retains their own unique charisma and characteristics. The lithographs are colored with enchanted paints, giving each picture a beautifully lifelike appearance. Each witch is distinct in their walk, their motions, and their flirtatious grins and their coy smiles. They vary in size, age, and physical appearance, tall, round, curvaceous, slim. The witches are also distinct in their risque witch’s garb, perfectly tailored to their shapes and more than a little eye catching. Another beautiful witch sashays into view on every flip of the page, leaving Jason in something of a quandary. With the option of witches from around the globe in his lap, he can't settle on just one for the night. 

Essence, the cover model of this year’s Long Night Edition, had been his immediate favorite. She wore the dark like a beautiful nightmare and blew kisses at Jason until her pale lips blushed sweet rose. Then Jason opened the magazine and discovered dozens of other beautiful witches. Now his head is filled with thoughts of the Red Arrow, a handsome red-haired witch whose decorative quiver stayed tantalizingly placed along his thigh, and the Troia, the starlight walker, whose tawny skin glittered and glowed like the night sky. He could easily choose twenty witches and he’s barely a third of the way through through, but he only has enough power to conjure a single witch. He has to get this right.

“I’ll do a couple more pages,” he mutters. “No more than twenty, and then I’ll narrow down my favorites.”

Forty-two pages later, Jason is sure he’s pared the list to six witches, but while they’re each lovely, none of them quite call to him. Perhaps one more, he thinks, flipping another page. One more and then. Jason nearly drops the magazine in surprise. A startled curse falls from his lips.

“Forgotten paths that should not be named. You’re perfect.”

Above where the pinup witch poses over a floating broomstick, words appear in thick black ink with a show card’s hand. Welcome, they say, To the Greatest Show on All Four Planes. The tall, black hat turns, revealing a pretty witch with a sparkle in his blue eyes and coy smile on his pouting mouth. He’s powerfully built, if lean, with perfect lines along the back of his bare thighs, the curve of his perfect bottom, and the length of his spine. His witch's garb is far from the typical. Black silk hugs his sides and middle in a singlet that ties around the back of his neck in a loose bow. His spread legs and cocked knee shows reveals the slip of black fabric curving around his groin and disappearing between his cheeks. He rolls upwards, swaying side to side in an hypnotic rhythm that bobs the broom up and down.

Jason’s cock twitches, and he grins shyly. His personal divining rod finally found something it liked.

The witch’s mouth moves and a small bubble appears above his head with words inscribed in black ink. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Witch,” he says. “My name is Nightwing.”

Black birds sweep across the page, swirling and diving. They must be send a gust of wind through the scene because Nightwing clutches his hat. The heavy waves of his hair curl forward, tickling his cheek. Jason stares enchanted by the soft blush that creeping along Nightwing’s cheeks and the tip of his straight nose. Nightwing turns fully, and all the air gathered in Jason’s chest rushes away.

“Wow,” he breathes when he clearly sees how that soft black barely contains the powerful body trapped within it.

As Nightwing slinks towards him, the show card title and the name disappear into the background while the speech bubble grows taller. Nightwing grows in size too fully dominating the foreground of the seventeen inch page.

“You are a very handsome witch. You have a powerful, majestic aura,” he says, moving through increasingly daring poses. One leg kicks straight up and over the broom. Nightwing slowly grinds down on the stiff wood and says, with the sweetest expression on his pretty face, “I’d love to see you wield your wand.”

The words stream through the speech bubble just out of sync from Nightwing’s mouth. They’re probably stock phrases until the pinup witch is chosen. But the lines seem less laughable with Nightwing smiling at him.

“Do you like what you see?”

Jason nods quickly.

“Then say the magic words, baby. I want to spend a little more time with you.”

The magic words. Right, the magic words. Jason blinks away the sublime haze filling his head. He totally forgot about the magic words. He hops to his feet in a rush. The ritual must be completed before midnight.

Soon, the magazine sits perfectly in the middle of the conjuring circle drawn on Jason’s bedroom floor. A ring of purified crystals surrounds the circle to focus and magnify Jason’s spell. After checking the position of the fading stars and reciting the spell in front of the mirror a few times, Jason leans over to check on the pinup witch. His expression brightens when he sees Jason. He dismounts from the broom and tugs at the delicate fabric clinging to his décolletage. The speech bubble appears when Nightwing opens his pouty mouth.

“Are you ready for me?”

“I don’t think I’ll ever be,” Jason confesses. “But I’m willing to try.”

The pinup witch blushes fetchingly.

The clock strikes twelve, and the heavy peal of the bell tolling the hour fills the air. The witching hour is upon them. The night is alive now. Jason feels it in his fingertips, power bright and sweet ready for him to control. He takes a deep breath and contains the joyous will within him. He has a plan, and he’s finally going to do it.

Jason positions himself at the southern point of the conjuring circe. It signifies the final distance, the journey’s end, the path home. He unfolds the Witch’s Staff special bonus spell to augment the sensory experience.

“Vixen, vixen on the page, I release you from your vellum cage. Come to me in this needful hour and our innermost secret desires will flower.”

The spell crackles in the air. A matte black cone begins to rise from the magazine. The witches hat grows longer, or perhaps taller, revealing the soft orange silk beneath the brim. Nightwing’s painted mouth seems fuller now that he is off the page. His chest expands and exhales as if he’s breathing, his hand slides up the broom’s shaft before stilling. He seems so real, so lifelike, Jason has to reach out and touch. His fingers slide air.

Nightwing smiles at him, and when he speaks, his voice curls towards Jason’s ears, a low, sultry breeze. “It doesn’t work that way.”

“I know. But I’m prepared for that.” Jason pulls out his crafting folio and turns to the last page filled with his looped handwriting.

It’s an idea he’s had from when he was a lonely child in world where parents moved their families to the new witch communities, leaving Park Row to wither. But not the Todds. When the last child left the neighborhood, Jason told himself it was okay. He’d find a way to bring the friends he made on his adventures to life. It only took fifteen years of searching to find the spell of substitutiary locomotion, to give life to that without, and another three to adapt it to his purpose. This will be his final and greatest test. All previous items he’d brought to life were physically present within the world. A pinup witch is markedly different as they exist within a different magical medium, the magic of the book. Jason posits that to succeed, he will have to bring Nightwing through to this world before the rest of the spell takes place.

“Wood. Metal. Earth. Water. Fire.” With each intoned word, Jason drops an offering of the elements into the conjuring circle. “A wish,” Jason drops an eyelash into the circle. “A dream. A piece of me.” His blood splashes on the page. “A day in your company is what I seek. On passion’s great heights you and I will peek.”

Nightwing flickers. A small frown mars his face. “Why is the room spinning?”

"Break free the chains that you do bind and through time and space our souls align!" The spell circles the room with a rush before flying through Dick. Jason closes his notebook. “I don’t think that should be happening. Are you alright?”

The flickering begins again. Light surrounds the pinups body thining him to something insubstantial, and when he reappears, Nightwing is brighter than before. His cheeks are fully flushed, his chest panting, and his eyes are wide and startled.

“Celestial heavens,” Nightwing breathes. “What just happened?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, are you alright.” Jason extends his hand. Nightwing stares at him for long, agonizing seconds, before grasping him with trembling fingers. His gloves do not pass through Jason’s hand. Nightwing is real, brought to life through the power of trans substitutiary locomotion, to give life to that without across the four planes. He can’t stop the grin from spreading over his face as he helps Nightwing step outside of the circle.

“Did that hurt? None of my research suggested it would.”

Nightwing wobbles on his high heeled boots. “I don’t. I don’t know. One second I was there. And now I’m here. How am I here?”

“I used a spell to bring you here. But it’s probably more accurate to say my spell brought you out of the Witch’s Staff Long Night Special and into the real world. To life.”

“To. Life?” Nightwing looks back at the conjuring circle and then back to Jason. “Oh dear,” he whispers, looking a bit faint.

Jason’s guides him to his bed where he sits, cheeks flushing like a ripened peach. He tries to retrieve the water bottle sitting on his desk, but Nightwing clutches his hand tightly.

“You said you brought me here. But where is here? And what is your name?”

“I’m Jason, and here is Gotham.”

Nightwing’s jaw drops. “Gotham _City_?” he exclaims. “May the nine planets align and guide my through the Dark One’s nether regions. That’s not possible.”

“I’m sorry, but it is. I just did it. Look.” Jason tries to move again but Nightwing refuses him a second time. He stretches out as far as his arms can go, fingers scrabbling over the floor until he’s almost, almost. There. Jason drags the magazine over and points the blank page. “Here. This is your page.”

Nightwing brings the book closer. His finger pinch at the paper and the name “Nightwing” comes into view, a hundred birds flying around and through the letters. He swallows audibly. “I believe you. Oh boy do I believe you, but Jason, I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”

“It’s no mistake. The moment I saw you, I wanted to talk to you, to kiss you. You and no one else.”

Nightwing blinks twice and the pretty flush on his skin deepens. His grip on Jason’s hand tightens.

“May I?” Nightwing nods slowly, and when Jason cups his cheek, he doesn’t pull away. “The spell will only last for two or three hours at the most, and you’ll return to your page when the spell ends.”

“You’re sure about that, huh?”

“Yes. The gargoyle I enchanted immediately returned to his place on top of the library.” That had been the second spell and it had worked perfectly. Jason is a master spellcraft.

Nightwing gives a huff of laughter. “I admit, this may be one of the strangest ways I’ve ever met a young witch trying to catch my attention, but it’s not the strangest. And it's not like I was seeing any real prospects tonight.”

Jason smiles at the compliment, although it's an odd thing for the pinup witch to say. Then again, they are supposed to retain the model’s personality. Bringing Nightwing out of the page likely expanded the spell.

“I’m glad.”

“You do have it by the way,” Nightwing says, nuzzling into Jason’s palm. His cheek is soft as a peach down and twice as smooth. Jason nods in dazed agreement until Nightwing laughs. The low, clear sound sinks into Jason’s skin, settles in low in his belly. He shifts guiltily.

“Have what?”

“My attention.” Nightwing places the hand he’s been clutching tight his hip, which is warm and bare. Jason squeezes reflexively testing softly and then harder. Nightwing’s dark lashes flutter. “May I?” he whispers.

Jason nods once unable to blink as Nightwing comes closer, closer. Their lips meet in a slow kiss that grows swiftly. Nightwing slides warm palms over his chest, down to his hips while Jason only holds on.

Nightwing pulls back, tongue tucked against the corner of his lips. “You haven’t kissed very many people have you?” He laughs again at Jason’s mortified flush, but it isn’t unkind. He presses a kiss to both of Jason’s cheeks and another sweet peck to Jason's trembling mouth. “I don’t mind,” he confesses. He tips Jason's head back towards him, a quiet smile on his lips. “It’s the Long Night, Jason, and you've gone through all the trouble to bring me here. We should enjoy ourselves.”

Their next keep is deeper. Warm like toffee, heady like spiced punch. It’s Jason who pulls away this time, confused. “You taste like rum.”

“Well, I suppose I do,” Nightwing says before diving in again. He’s like a curious bird flitting from one place to another, a divine wind brushing aside all obstacles until Jason is shirtless, breathless, and panting against his lips, drunk on rum flavored kisses and Nightwing's sweet laughter. He teases Jason’s belt buckle, slides a finger along the weary zipper which parts ever so slightly.

“It looks like I’ve found the witch’s staff,” he murmurs. “And it is definitely ready for the long night. Will you allow me to test my magic against it?” And Nightwing’s kind laughter rings a third time when Jason stutters and mumbles and pleads for Nightwing to do whatever he wishes.

Nightwing’s next kiss is furious with desire. A hot slick tongue licking at his mouth, feisty teeth nipping at his lips. Jason groans helpless under the unexpected lesson, but it is not unwelcome. Not at all. His hands slide up the warm expanse of Nightwing’s back, fingers tracing the flexing muscles, the soft dips and curves. He reaches the silk ties and tugs them free. Nightwing moans against his mouth. He drags Jason’s hands to his chest, rushes his top down and replacing the silk with Jason’s palms. Jason squeezes and kisses, kisses and squeezes until he’s dizzy and drowning from pleasure. His back hits the pillows and Nightwing rises above him, hair tousled, mouth red, a vision in the near dark.

“Oh Jason,” he mutters, eyes alight when they’re both wonderfully nude and straining against one another. His hand spans the length of Jason's dip and his longest finger doesn't come close to the tip. He grins wickedly. “I am so glad you’ve brought me here.” He slides down Jason’s body, scouring his skin with teeth and tongue and softly apologetic kisses that will surely add to the bruises later. He nuzzles his down cheek to Jason’s cock. The sight sends melting heat through his blood. A spurt of wetness slides across that perfect cheek.

“A thousand curses to the horned god,” Jason pants. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, but I’m so close.” His words seem to mean nothing to Nightwing, who begins fisting his cock slowly, hand over hand. “Oh gods. Please.”

“Jason, Jason,” Nightwing whispers between wet licks down his cock. “You musn’t come. Not yet. Not until you’re inside me.”

“I couldn’t deny you anything,” Jason says, choking when a strong hand drags up his cock and a strong, sucking kiss to his head.

“And never will you try, my clever Mr. Witch. Never will you try.”

The words settle between them, a spell all its own.

 

* * *

 

Although the chance of a customer the day after the Long Night are slim, Jason goes down to the apothecary shop after breakfast. He’d woken in ruffled sheets, the scent of strange magic and sex in the air. Despite having been lost his entire life, abandoned by all he’d ever known and loved, Jason had never felt more alone. He traced the kisses bitten and torn into his skin trying to relieve each moment, but they faded quickly and the warmth Nightwing left in his bed swiftly disappeared.

Work, however little of it he could find, is the only purpose that he knows and the the only solace he can turn.

The front door doesn’t open until well afternoon, during the golden hour, when the sun and the light of magic align coating the world in a golden glow of chance.

The black bell clatters, pulling Jason from his lonesome reverie. The customer stands in the doorway glancing slowly about the room. He’s wearing a brimmed hat over raven black hair and a pair of oversized smoked lenses over his eyes.

“Welcome to Todd & Sons Apothecary. From the rarest herb to the most dangerous bloom, our wares are beyond compare.” Jason fixes his best smile to complement his greeting.

The customer’s head snaps towards him. “Jason? Jason Todd?” he asks, hesitantly, in a voice that is all too familiar. He crosses the room swiftly, and when he reaches the hemlock counter begins removing his accessories one by one. The fluffy green scarf falls to counter revealing impossibly soft lips. The hat lands next allowing a wing of heavy hair to slide free, hair soft and thick that thread through Jason’s fingers. The glasses follow allowing Jason to stare into the sparkling blue eyes.

“Nightwing?” Jason croaks in disbelief.

“Dick Grayson, actually. But yes, Jason, it’s me, and we have a lot to talk about.”


End file.
